A New Day Dawns
by Imogen74
Summary: Sherlock is now dealing with the new situations as a result of the Fall and those events immediately following. John and Mary, Inas Inverness, Molly Hooper.
1. Chapter 1

"So far, so good." Sherlock was in the lab at Bart's. He had been testing skin reactions to arsenic post-mortem. Engrossed as he was, he didn't hear Molly enter.  
"Everything going alright?" She held two cups of coffee.  
"Yes. Looks like it. If things continue along this trajectory, I'll have Mr. Simpson cleared by tea time."  
"But, um, you don't drink tea." She glanced at the cups, wondering if somehow, she had made a mistake. Despite their long history, Molly still felt like she was a child around the detective. Always second guessing herself, always trying to keep up with that mind of his. She was quite a smart woman, but Sherlock Holmes would never know.  
"No. An expression, Molly. Try to keep up."  
"Oh, right, sorry." Molly blushed & returned to her work on the other end if the lab. He always made her feel silly. Though she knew she wasn't stupid, occasionally he made her feel that way, too. The coffee they had a month ago was lovely. He was open & pleasant. He made jokes. He thanked her again & again for saving his life, for using the lab. He said he was trying to set things right, & that he thought he took her for granted. He felt badly about that, & wanted her to know. He even walked her home & kissed her cheek before leaving. Since then, though he was, in general, much more pleasant to her, he hadn't asked her out again. She assumed it was her fault. Either she put too much into the coffee they had, or else she had disappointed him somehow. She had heard John mention a new flat mate, Inas, & she wondered if perhaps, she had caught Sherlock's eye.  
"So," said Molly. "How's the new flat mate?"  
"Fine."  
"Just fine? Is it strange living with a woman?"  
Sherlock stopped what he was doing at once. He looked at her with a look of exhaustion mixed with pity. "Why would it be strange? We hardly see one another. Although John is working at the clinic, we have had the opportunity to work on a few cases together. Inas is the perfect flat mate. She tidies up, & keeps to her room to write."  
Molly understood. Sherlock wanted a wife without having one. Or, perhaps a tad more accurate, a live-in housekeeper. Inas was not a romantic interest, neither was John. Molly would likely never be either. Just because Sherlock had developed a conscience, didn't mean he developed a heart.  
Oh well. I always knew it was a slim chance I had. The coffee had been just a friendly gesture.  
"Right. We'll I better call it a night."  
"Hmmm."  
Molly turned & left the lab. She thought about her relationship with Sherlock & it was then that she realized she gave it much more thought than he ever did.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock entered his flat to find Inas smoking on the sofa. She was cross-legged, with her Mac, coffee, cigarette. Her short curls pulled away from her face with some sort of head band, & her black rimmed glasses were slipping down her nose.  
"I know you miss John, but its impolite to stare so." Inas looked up & smiled.  
Sherlock turned to the kitchen. "You know how difficult it is for me to have you smoking. Besides, Mrs. Hudson disapproves. You should honor her request to stop."  
"Bad day?"  
Sherlock glanced in Inas's direction, but neglected to look her full-on. He detested admitting to allowing the circumstances of his day mire his mood. His mood, while constantly in flux, concerned him only insofar as it effected his work. It appeared that it was, now. Perhaps allowing his flat mate a glance at his thoughts would prove fruitful.  
"John is only assisting when Mary allows him to. It's annoying & cumbersome. I require his help on important matters. She requires him for feeling & bodily fluid sharing."  
Inas was in the kitchen with him now, his back facing her. She knew he was uncomfortable, but this needed sorted. He was approaching unbearable to live with. "Have you offered to compensate him monetarily for his services, since you are no longer living together?"  
Sherlock glanced once more at the woman in black. Perhaps she had a point. His & John's relationship was always rather murky, in many regards. While he never "paid" John, he simply paid for all of their living expenses, giving him his card & such. John would use his savings from service to pitch in for rent, to purchase clothing.  
_Rather like a marriage. Good god_. Sherlock winced. Perhaps he did miss John more than he admitted to himself. Perhaps he was jealous of Mary.  
He wouldn't think about that. He had his mind on his work, that was what he needed to attend to. Yet, Inas likely had a point.  
"I suppose I could do that. Offer."  
"I believe you'll find the response favorable. After all, he is living with his girlfriend." Sherlock winced again. "Right. Good, then." He strode over to his laptop resting on the table & turned it on.  
"You're writing an email? That's hardly appropriate."  
"What would you suggest? A love letter?"  
Inas laughed. "Well, thats not entirely...never mind. No. You should visit. Look him full-on in the face, & offer him a paid position."  
Sherlock sighed heavily.  
"This is much more complicated than I should like it to be. Why? Why can't I simply write an email? It's more efficient."  
"Yes. But it's much less personal. He's your friend. You owe him a visit."  
He looked at Inas fully now. She was smiling, sitting in the chair opposite him. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You really think he'll stop working at the clinic if I offer him money?"  
"Sherlock, I know that you are a bit, well, daft when it comes to analyzing actions driven by emotion. However, he loves Mary & wants to support her, be with her. She wants the same from him. If you pay him to work with you, I think he'd pounce on it. I'm sure he misses you too."  
The detective rose to his feet. He smirked at the writer, looking a bit triumphant in her chair.  
"I believe I am beginning to understand why I asked you to be my flat mate."  
"To tidy up & mind my business?"  
"Yes. But further, to explain the idiosyncrasies of human emotional states. The only area I am intellectually deficient in."  
"Who wrote _Songs of Innocence & Experience_?"  
Sherlock stared blankly.  
"I hardly think that's the only area." Inas laughed aloud this time. Sherlock rolled his eyes, & left the flat thinking about how he was going to approach John with his suggestion.


	3. Chapter 3

John had just returned from the clinic. Mary was still at work. His life, since he'd moved in with his girlfriend, had not been unpleasant. He looked around the flat - everything had its place. He appreciated his girlfriend's meticulous care of their living space. John loved his Mary. He loved his life, he told himself.  
The doctor had only assisted Sherlock Holmes on two cases in the past four months since his return. At first, he believed it was the eerie Inas Inverness that had caused the fissure. She was much like Sherlock. She was intelligent, serene, confident, but broken in ways he knew Sherlock would never appreciate. Her sadness was real. His mind could never reach that level of emotional understanding. In that way, John was like Inas. They had, both of them, fought a war of sorts. And Sherlock was the one that saved them. He was the one that broke their respective falls. But Mr. Holmes would never admit it, & John Watson would never press the issue.  
If he was honest, he would admit that it was Mary that had changed the situation. Not because she was selfish or cruel, but because she was selfish & in love. She wanted John home at a decent hour, not cavorting around London with a psychopath or sociopath, or whatever it was he called himself. No. She wanted him here, by 6 pm, for dinner.  
It was a tad surprising when he heard the bell. They hadn't received a visitor since moving in two months previous, nor had they invited anyone. Must be a mistake, thought John. But the bell rang once more, so he went out of his first floor flat to answer it. He never thought he'd see the man in his doorway. But there he was, just the same.  
"It's not good manners to allow a friend to linger in your doorway, John. I'm surprised Mary puts up with it."  
"Sherlock! What the...come in!"  
The pair entered the pristine flat. Sherlock glanced over it, unsurprised at anything he saw. _Loads of books. Everything in its place. Everything dusted, meticulously. Just so. Just Mary_.  
"So. What brings you by?"  
"Well, John. Yes." He was suddenly uncomfortable. "I have a proposal."  
Johns mouth hung agape. "Not that kind of proposal," the detective sneered. "You cannot honestly believe that after all this time, I'm suddenly going to come out to you."  
"Well, no. No. Just an odd choice of words."  
"Right." Sherlock went to the window. "This view is awful. How can you stand a first floor flat?"  
"It's what we could afford. Why are you here, again?"  
Sherlock shifted his weight. He turned to his friend. "I was wondering if you would be interested in a paid situation. A situation I provided. The same, well, situation as you had previously, except I'd be compensating you for it."  
John looked at the detective. "You're serious?"  
"Well, yes, actually. Inas had suggested that this might be the course of action to take."  
"I see."  
Sherlock's eyes squinted, his nose did the same. "See what?"  
"You're driving her mad. You're staying up late, sawing your violin. Messing up the flat until its unrecognizable. Body parts everywhere. She's hoping I'll come in & fix it up, because you miss me & you won't admit it."  
"Actually, you're only partly right. Stop by 221B for dinner later & you'll see what I'm driving at. We can discuss the particulars of the situation. I'll have Lestrade over so he can provide some information on the new case we've taken on. Bring Mary."  
"You're cooking?"  
"Good god no. Inas is rather good, however. She shan't mind cooking for a larger party."  
"She cooks for the two of you, does she?"  
This stopped Sherlock from heading out the door completely. He turned to his friend.  
"Look, John. Inas is not my..." he detested the word so much it stuck in his throat. "Girlfriend, or whatever. We share a flat. That's all. We have a mutual understanding. I have no romantic designs on her whatsoever. She understands me, I understand her. We rarely talk. It's actually, quite perfect."  
"You've never seen her naked?"  
Sherlock looked at John. "Excuse me?"  
"Well, you've been living together two months, not outside the realm of possibility, is it?"  
"I'm not going to indulge whatever fantasies you possess concerning my flat mate with an answer."  
"You have, then."  
"No."  
"Ok, Sherlock. My point is..."  
"You have no point. You are reaching because you're bored, you're bored because the clinic is less than uninteresting. It's painfully dull. You are attempting to get a rise out of me to satiate your desire for conflict."  
"No. I'm simply trying to ascertain whether you're as much a man as you are human."  
"What are you going on about?"  
"Inas is a very attractive woman. She's smart. Witty. She's not unlike you, with a dash of me for good measure. Why shouldn't you be interested?"  
Sherlock sighed. He longed to just leave, but something made him stay. "_If_ I had any desire for female companionship of the romantic sort, I wouldn't seek the company of Inas Inverness. All of the things you said were true, but none of them interest me."  
"What does, then? The Fall proved you more than capable of deep emotional feelings."  
"Retract that statement immediately."  
"No. Surely the thought has crossed your mind,"  
"With Inas? No. It never has."  
"Anyone, then?"  
Sherlock looked at John. An image flashed in front of him. There was a person of the female persuasion that perhaps, if he thought about it with any seriousness, might interest him in the way John suggested Inas did. But it mattered little. He would never indulge those tendencies. He did, once. He indulged with cocaine, & regretted it immediately. Cigarettes were as far as he'd take it.  
"8 o'clock. Bring Mary's favorite wine."


	4. Chapter 4

Inas was writing. That's what she did. She wrote vigorously. She stayed, up & away in her room & wrote. She paid little attention to her brilliant, overgrown child of a flat mate. He was amusing, diverting, easily dissected. Surely a virgin, which suited her fine. She had no interest in pursuing any sort of relationship with anyone. She had words, images, intense emotions to describe. The pain of her past was her muse, her vast arsenal of poetic inspiration. True, it was her therapy, her balm. Admittedly, it wasn't the type of life most would choose. But then, no one could deny her that release. Few had experienced the grueling life Inas had.  
It was pleasant to have Sherlock around. He kept mostly to himself. Occasionally they partook in duets - he in his violin, her on her viola. She knew he had never done such a thing before, but the more he practiced, the better he became. Inas also knew that she was preparing him for something even bigger. She knew, though she couldn't say why, that Sherlock Holmes needed a relationship. Who that lady was, she was unsure. She only knew it wasn't Inas.  
"Have you any plans for dinner?"  
Sherlock swept in 221B a tad surprised, but grateful nonetheless, to see Inas on the sofa still. She mostly wrote in her room.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Dinner. Plans. Have you any?" He was in the kitchen now, shuffling with things, making a racket.  
Mrs. Hudson entered the flat. "Goodness, Sherlock. What are you doing? I can hear your noise downstairs."  
"Ah, good Mrs. Hudson. How would you like to join us for dinner?"  
Inas was annoyed. "What's going on?"  
"I invited John & Mary for dinner. Now I'm inviting Mrs. Hudson. So, what do you say?"  
"I say, sure. If you're cooking."  
Inas was standing now, observing her rude flat mate bristling about the kitchen, emptying cabinets.  
"Well, that's really out of the question."  
"Is it? I rather thought that the person doing the inviting would be doing the cooking as well."  
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't cook."  
"I hope you're not suggesting that I cook for five people."  
"Seven."  
"Seven. Seven people. Unbelievable. Do you know seven people?"  
"Of course. You, myself, Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, Lestrade, & Molly. Seven."  
Inas looked at Mrs. Hudson. She looked at Sherlock.  
"No. You'll have to get take away. I'm not your live-in chef."  
Mrs. Hudson chimed in, "That's a girl. If he's going to invite all of these people, he needs to sort it out. It's not like, well, you're, you know..."  
"Mrs. Hudson, what are you going on about?" Sherlock had stopped his rummage to look at the two women. When neither responded, he turned again. "Do I have seven place settings? I suppose it doesn't matter." He ran his hand through his hair. "A plate is a plate."  
"Sherlock Holmes. Call for Chinese. I am not cooking for your long- overdue reunion party." Inas turned on her heel & collected her things from the sofa. "I'll be down later to tidy up, but that's the extent of it."


	5. Chapter 5

Inas had finished the poem revision & had dressed herself for dinner. The racket below had subsided, & she had a rather sinking feeling in her stomach.  
She told herself that she'd have known if anything exploded, so she ventured downstairs.  
Sherlock Holmes was in the kitchen, & he was cooking.  
"Well. I must admit, I never though I'd see the day."  
"Two months as flat mates hardly warrants a decisive term such as 'never.'"  
"Is it edible, do you think?"  
"No idea. But cooking is not unlike chemistry, so I'd hazard that yes, it's likely edible. A cookbook is of infinite use. And, well, everyone accepted my invitation..." At this, Sherlock Holmes turned. "Do you own any clothing that isn't black?"  
"No. It's my signature color." Inas was dressed in a simple black dress that hit just below her knee. "Do you disapprove? Not that I'd care, or do anything to alter my costume."  
"My approval is hardly important. I just realized that's all that you wear."  
Inas smiled a crooked smile. "I suppose I'll be seeing to your rather extensive mess. Why don't you tidy yourself up?"  
As she busied herself, she hummed a tune. Inas thought about the guests coming to 221B, & realized there was one she had never met. Sherlock mentioned Molly. She knew the name, but never considered it much past an acquaintance of Sherlock's. Now she was a tad intrigued, but only a tad. Even if subliminally, he was hinting that there was an attraction there, he was in no way ready for any type of relationship behind platonic. And even the platonic ones she questioned.  
There was Mrs. Hudson in the doorway. "Hello, dear. Looking lovely as usual."  
"Oh, well. Thanks Mrs. Hudson. What time is it?"  
"7:45, I thought I'd help a touch. You know, just to hurry things along."  
"You were worried about the state of the flat."  
"Well, yes. You know, he never cooks. Didn't know what I'd find, did I?"  
"No. Yes. I quite understand. Sherlock is getting himself together. Wine?"  
"Thanks, dear."  
"Mrs. Hudson?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Do you know Molly?"  
"Hooper? Of course. Quiet girl. Sweet as you like. Always saying the most embarrassing things, though. Been in love with Sherlock as long as I've known her. She works in Bart's morgue. In fact, now that I'm thinking of it, she was the only one that knew he was alive after the Fall."  
Inas was intrigued. "Is that so? He's hardly mentioned her." Inas was drinking her merlot & thinking. Sherlock must trust this Molly a very great deal. It follows he cares about her. It wasn't long before Inas had made her mind up. She'd observe the two of them at dinner & decide if she was going to help things along, or else ignore it completely. If the latter, it was unlikely anything would come of it. Sherlock would never pursue something like that without assistance.  
"Well. Looks acceptable. Suppose the actual eating will necessarily be less formal."  
"Quite right. No room." Inas smiled. "So...everyone accepted your invitation. Lestrade will be here to go over the case with John & yourself. Mary to approve your business proposal. Remind me why Mrs. Hudson & myself are here?"  
"It's rude to not include Mrs. Hudson. She's a fixture here. And you're, well, my flat mate."  
"What about Molly?"  
"Hm? What about her?" Sherlock was making the salad.  
"I fail to see why she's been invited, unless this dinner is more than what you purport."  
"Molly saved me."  
This was not the answer Inas had expected. She was a bit taken aback. "Pardon?"  
"She saved me. After the Fall."  
"I see."  
Inas left it at that. Clearly, Sherlock had no idea what implications his words had.


	6. Chapter 6

Inas was happy to welcome the guests into the flat while Sherlock sat & plucked at his violin. He claimed he was waiting for everyone to arrive. She had played special attention to Molly & her reaction to Sherlock, as well as his reaction to her.  
She detected nothing on his part to suggest any particular regard. However, Molly was obviously quite taken. She stammered when she spoke to him, & only him. When she was introduced to the doctor, the following ensued:  
"So, you're Sherlock's flat mate?"  
"Quite right. You are his pathologist."  
"Well, I'm a pathologist." Molly hesitated. "So...how did the two of you meet, then?"  
"He never told you? No. He wouldn't. I...well, I hired him for a case of mine.  
"You're a poet, though, right?"  
"What makes you assume that a poet would never require a detective?"  
"I just...it doesn't mesh with my ideas, I guess."  
"No." Inas smiled. She wondered if letting Molly in on her past was the right course of action. She wondered briefly if Sherlock would mind. Molly appeared so innocent in her plain skirt & ponytail.  
"You are rather striking, Inas." Molly was looking at her, admiring her appearance.  
"Sorry?" Inas had been deep in thought, & Molly's compliment pulled her out if her reverie.  
"I mean, in your black dress, & your heels. Your black eye makeup. Your scars...sorry."  
Inas laughed. "Don't apologize. You're curious, & rightly so. I don't imagine Sherlock has many friends. In fact, I'd wager they are all in this room at present."  
"Yes. Some probably don't even belong here. I do not believe Mary is held high in Sherlock's esteem."  
Molly laughed with Inas briefly. She then regained her nervous comport & looked at Inas. "You...don't have to tell me your story. I understand. I guess Sherlock is very much in love with you, to ask you to live with him."  
"Erm...no. Not in the slightest. Not at all. You saved him, Molly. I merely clean up after him & occasionally duet."  
With that, Inas left Molly to speak with John, Mary, & Lestrade. She was curious how everyone felt about John now being employed by Sherlock Holmes.  
"Mary, I think it's everything wonderful." Inas was sincere.  
"You think so because he'll soon be out of your hair & into John's. Don't pretend I don't know he's merely trying to make John more available to him."  
"Mary, sweetheart. I want to work with Sherlock. I don't particularly enjoy the clinic. And  
he's offered a nice sum. You can't possibly object."  
"No." Mary was smiling. She genuinely liked Sherlock, much to everyone's chagrin. She merely worried about John, because she knew Sherlock was reckless.  
"How could she object? He's so charming." Inas was laughing through her words, & the group laughed with her.  
"You are droll, Inas. But don't pretend that you are immune to my many charms. Your sarcasm carries little weight." Sherlock was now among them, smiling, though not partaking in the laughter.  
Molly Hooper was away from the happy party, talking with Mrs. Hudson. She heard much of what was going on, & her mind raced, paying little attention to the landlady's complaints about the noise, her hip, & oh, was Molly seeing anyone yet? She'd do well to find herself a nice young man & settle down.  
Molly teemed with jealousy, & she hated herself for it. Why, why did she subject herself repeatedly to this slow & painful torture? She wasn't stupid. She wasn't desperate. She was a successful scientist. Yet she continually pined for this ridiculous man that paid her no attention. She would stop doing this to herself. He'd be happy with that poet, she'd find herself a boring young man.  
Molly turned to Mrs. Hudson. "I'm sorry. I should go."  
"But we haven't had dinner. Surely you can stay."  
"Actually, no. No I can't. I need to get home. Thanks, Mrs. Hudson."  
"But...but...Sherlock cooked. Aren't you curious?"  
"No. I'm afraid."  
Molly abruptly took her coat & left the flat. She would think no more on the subject. She'd put it behind her. If he came to the morgue, she would help, but no more coffee. Molly Hooper had plenty of will power. This would be an easy task.


	7. Chapter 7

Everyone had left the flat & Inas was busy clearing up the mess left by the five guests. Sherlock was playing his violin, looking out of the window.  
She finished, poured herself another glass of merlot, & went into the sitting room.  
"Fancy a duet?" Sherlock had ceased his play.  
"Not really. I'd rather talk."  
He rolled his eyes at the prospect.  
"Whatever about?"  
"Oh, a plethora of things! Your cooking wasn't half bad. Shocking. Mary is more enamored of you than anyone lets on. Equally puzzling. John is thrilled to be working with you again. Expected. Molly is very much in love with you. Downright preposterous."  
Sherlock was stoic.  
"I wonder why you are suddenly so keen on duets." Inas was smiling broadly.  
"The point?"  
"No point. Just making some observations. Thought you'd enjoy it."  
"I make observations. You make assumptions."  
"No. That's not quite right. I observed that your cooking skills were not repugnant. I observed that John is excited at the prospect of your business partnership. Perhaps it was an assumption about Mary. But to claim all of these are assumptions is hardly fair."  
"You have blatantly ignored your statement concerning Molly."  
"True. That was purposeful. I would like to listen to your observations on that matter."  
"You claimed it was preposterous that she was...what you said."  
"It is! Your treatment of her is abhorrent. She must be masochistic. No other explanation is tenable."  
Sherlock looked at his flat mate with a steady stare. He was not pleased with the way this discussion had progressed. He did not like to discuss Molly Hooper, he had no idea what to say on the subject - a very foreign state for him. Inas continued to smirk at him. She knew his mind was racing.  
"I...I don't know."  
"Pardon?"  
"I don't know."  
"You don't know what? Hang on. I need to obtain my mobile. This needs to be recorded."  
"Inas Inverness, if you fetch your mobile phone, I'm chucking it out of this window."  
"Poor John. He would've loved to have heard this banter."  
Sherlock didn't appear to be amused. "I do not wish to discuss this with you. It is not amusing. Not interesting. I have nothing to say on the matter."  
"I see."  
"See what, exactly?"  
"Nothing exactly, Sherlock. You have never enjoyed, to borrow the phrase, the beauty of grey."  
Sherlock's phone rang out with his text alert. He pulled it from his pocket & smiled broadly.  
"You cannot smile like that & provide no information."  
"Lestrade. Texting John. New case."


	8. Chapter 8

John had received the text & wished he hadn't smiled quite so broadly. Sherlock was there in 10 minutes, ringing the bell.  
"Lord he's impatient. I cannot believe that a case presented itself so quickly. You just agreed to the position! And I thought that there was a case he was already working on." Mary Morstan was flustered. She hadn't banked on Sherlock ringing the bell an hour after they left the flat.  
"Well, he claims he solved it already. Mary, dear, don't worry. I'll be careful." John stowed his gun away, & Mary let out a nervous sigh. She smiled at her lover as the bell rang out once more. "Don't wait up." And with that, John left his girlfriend wringing her hands in nervous contemplation.  
"Sherlock, you could at least attempt some patience. We were settling in for the night."  
"If this is how it's gong to be every time I text you about a case, I'll be taking your salary under review."  
John smiled. "Whatever happened to Molly tonight? She was there, then she was gone."  
Sherlock was looking out of the cab. He had heard John's question, but hadn't decided how to answer. He, too, wondered at that. He saw Molly speaking to Mrs. Hudson. He asked her what happened to Molly, but his landlady couldn't say. One minute they were talking, the next she was saying she was afraid to sample Sherlock's cooking. Surely, a weak attempt at humor. Yet this was unsettling, & Sherlock couldn't say why.  
"Mrs. Hudson claimed she was fatigued."  
"Odd. Even for Molly."  
"Not really. Molly Hooper is a nervous person. Perhaps she was overwhelmed."  
"She's not nervous, except around you. You know, I bet she's jealous."  
"Jealous?"  
"Of Inas."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Absolutely nothing is going on. Why is that all anyone cares about? It's no wonder I ignore the female sex."  
"I hardly think "ignore" is the proper term. More like "run from," "dodge," perhaps."  
"That's hardly fair. I have a female flat mate. A land lady. Molly. My pathologist. That's a good amount of women in my life."  
The cab stopped & the pair got out. DI Lestrade came over to greet them.  
"I'm still trying to explain to Anderson that you actually cooked dinner. Donavan says she refuses to believe it. Inas is covering for you."  
"I'm equally at a loss." John was smiling.  
"Lestrade, much as I'd love to continue this riveting discussion about my culinary skills, we are here to see a body. John's girlfriend was none too pleased at my text, & in the interest of time & his continued employment, lest she forces his resignation, I suggest we get on with it."  
"So," Lestrade was leading them inside of an abandoned store front. "About three quarters an hour ago, this was called in. Nothing terribly strange about it, except that its the third one in as many days. And they're all rather young."  
John & Sherlock walked over to the body of a young woman, about 20 years of age. She was lying face down on the floor, half naked, bruises everywhere.  
"Names Laura Kane. From Devon. Dunno what she's doing in London. Her family reported her about three days ago missing."  
Sherlock strode around the young corpse. He bent over, examining her wrists, her ankles, her fingers & throat. "John. Come have a look."  
Dr. Watson assumed his air of serene confidence. "I'd say she was drugged & then strangled, by the looks of it."  
"Quite right. She was bound by her wrists & ankles. Longer by her wrists, the wounds are deeper & there's more chaffing. This suggests that the murderer had her walking a bit on her own. She had attempted an escape, as there's considerable dirt under her nails, suggesting she was clawing her way through something."  
"Maybe she liked to garden." Lestrade suggested.  
"Possibly, but no one I know gardens with such vigor as to tear their nails half way off their nail beds. She was likely on a date when she was abducted. There are cinema tickets in her pocket, & love bites around her neck."  
"She was strangled, though? Perhaps her boyfriend..."  
"Unlikely. A boyfriend wouldn't feel the need to bind his lover. At least, not to transport her to London." Sherlock cleared his throat at the snickering coming from John & Lestrade.  
"You said this was the third?" Sherlock & Lestrade were exiting with John right behind.  
"Yeah. Third. Young girls with bruises all over."  
"The other bodies are..."  
"Well, the first has already gone & is being prepared for services. The one yesterday might still be at Bart's."  
"I need to have a look."


	9. Chapter 9

It was rather late. The morgue, while never a cheerful place, appeared even more sullen without Molly there. Amy was filling in for Molly, whom she liked a very great deal. She had called in sick, something she doesn't do often. Sherlock Holmes entered with John Watson at his side, commanding the attention of the place merely by virtue of his demeanor.  
"Where's Molly?"  
"Sick. She called off. I'm here for her. Amy Miller. Pleased to..."  
"What do you mean she's sick?" Sherlock disliked anything that posed a threat to his routine, especially when he had a case on.  
Amy didn't answer, but looked quizzically at the man. "DI Lestrade told me to expect you, Mr. Holmes. You are here to examine the body of...lemme see...Christine Martin?"  
Sherlock didn't answer.  
"Yes. Thank you, Miss Miller. Could you lead us to it, then?" John glared at Sherlock.  
Amy left the two alone at the slab, she went just out to an adjoining room to finish up paper work.  
"You know, you'll get much further with people with a touch of civility. You're not as cool as you think you are, upturned collar notwithstanding." John was smiling at his partner.  
"Never claimed to be cool. And I refuse civility on people I don't know. It's tiresome & wasteful. Look here, John. The same markings. She was bound in the same fashion."  
"Same killer, then? Serial?"  
"It's hardly enough to go on to make that particular claim. I need to do some research. After that, I'll feel more confident. But yes, it looks like a possibility."  
Sherlock smiled at his partner.

He was at his laptop, & had been for some hours. It had been well over 24 hours since he'd slept or eaten. Instead, he was smoking & drinking coffee.  
"Hypocrisy is a most unattractive trait." Inas had just emerged from her upstairs bedroom.  
"Hm?"  
"Whatever are you doing?"  
"Research. Case. Smoking."  
"Ah. Well, I'll just take one of those." Inas nicked a smoke from the pack & sat down opposite her flat mate with her coffee.  
"Three young girls. Bound. Drugged & strangled. One from Devon. One from York. One from Kent. Nothing to link them, except that they are under the age of 20."  
Inas was listening closely. An shiver went through her, & it didn't go unnoticed.  
"Are you alright?"  
She cleared her throat. "I...yes. I'm ok. I'm just...it's just..."  
"Does this case hit close to heart?" Sherlock looked at her with concern.  
"Actually, yes. It does. Were the girls abducted?"  
Sherlock nodded the affirmative.  
"Have you looked at their families?"  
A slow nod.  
"And?"  
"John & I are leaving for Kent in an hour."  
"Right." Inas was sullen-faced.  
"Miss me already?" Sherlock had gotten up to fetch more coffee.  
"Hardly. As you observed, it's awfully...similar."  
"Would you mind doing me a small service while I'm gone?"  
Sherlock came back in with the coffee pot, which he was refreshing into Inas's cup.  
"I don't know. You never serve me coffee. Must be serious."  
"Check in on Molly."  
"Beg your pardon?"  
"Apparently she's ill. Would you mind popping by to ensure she has everything she needs? She lives alone."  
Inas stared at Sherlock.  
"I'll text the address to you...there."  
Her phone rang out a receipt of text.  
"What?"  
She hadn't broken her stare.  
"It's, well, it's odd."  
"Odd?"  
"You hardly mention her in the past two months I've lived here, & now, she's everywhere. And nowhere. She's enigmatic. She's daisein."  
"She's what?"  
"Heidegger. Wrote about daisein. The nothing that is."  
"You wonder why I don't trouble myself with such things, they make absolutely no sense."  
"Well, it makes perfect sense to me. And because she is your daisein, I'll fix her up."  
"I don't want her fixed up. I want her checked on. She's a bit...fragile."  
"Is that why she scampered off last night?"  
"Haven't the faintest."  
"No. No, you wouldn't. Sure. I'll do that. Anything else?"  
"Try not to bother anyone with your incessant viola playing & idle chatter. It's unattractive."  
"You, Mr. Holmes, would know."


	10. Chapter 10

Molly Hooper was watching telly. She loathed telly. But she was bored, & a bit depressed. She had grown up believing in fairy tales, hoping that one day, she would have her own.  
Age & circumstance robbed her of her idealism, but she still hung on to staunch beliefs in love, in life, in the power that one person can have on another. She had believed that, no matter what, something wonderful can occur in every person's life. That that is what made life worthwhile.  
She wasn't so sure any longer. She had proved herself ridiculous in matters of the heart. She had disappointed herself, & she was angry because of it. Her philosophy was crashing down around her, & she was alone to clean it up.  
The bell irritated her. She would ignore it. She had no desire to see anyone. She also couldn't imagine who on earth was on the other side of her door. It rang again. Once more, & she lifted herself up to yell at the perpetrator.  
Inas Inverness was there, smiling seductively at the pathologist.  
"Hello, Molly. Mind if I come in?"  
"Well, actually..."  
Inas strode in, ignoring her. She scanned the room. Depressed. Lonely. Indulging her masochistic whims. Inas turned, still smiling. "We need to clean up, beginning with you. Go hop in the shower. I'll tend to your flat."  
"Excuse me? I'm fine."  
"Yes, & you're supposed to be ill in bed. Go get a shower. You'll be fixed pronto."  
Molly did as she was told. The warm water felt marvelous against her skin. A cleansing that freed her mind in tandem with her body.  
She emerged from her room, dressed, as Inas busied herself with tidying up. Her flat looked fantastic. Smelled like Inas. Molly briefly wondered if her perfume sold as air freshener, too.  
"Thank you, for tidying up. It wasn't necessary."  
"Given the state, I believe it was. Sit down, Molly. We need to talk."  
Molly smiled weakly & sat on her sofa.  
"So. Have you any idea why I'm here?"  
"Not really, no."  
"Sherlock sent me. He's away on a case. He was concerned about you."  
Molly remained silent.  
"So. I think we can both agree that he cares about you."  
Her eyes shot up. "No, he doesn't! He never has! He talks big, but he doesn't care! He wants me to fetch him things & compromise my position & I let him & now he loves you &..."  
She fell silent. Inas was smiling softly.  
Molly spoke again, "Do you always wear black?"  
"Always. Every. Single. Stitch. Every day."  
"Why?"  
"Because, I too, am sad. Have you read my poetry? It's in several books. Or have you heard me sing? I write the songs for the band."  
"No, sorry. Do you write sonnets? Love poems?"  
"Ha! No. Hardly, Molly. No. I've never been in love, so it would be rather difficult to write about."  
Molly looked dumbfounded. "But...but...you & Sherlock..."  
"Sherlock Holmes & I are not in love. We are flat mates. That's it."  
"So...you're just..."  
"We are, yes. Just flat mates. I'd hazard to guess he considers me some semblance of a friend. Though I'd never be John. I think he thinks I'm bright, but bright in ways he isn't. So...I'm interesting in that regard."  
"How are you bright in ways he isn't?"  
"Can't you guess? Poetry. Literature. Philosophy. I understand a different sort of human motivation. We are, for certain purposes, not unlike. And, we are, neither of us, interested in romantic love." Inas stopped & looked significantly at Molly. Molly turned crimson.  
"I'm...sorry. You've experienced a lot of pain in life..." She was twirling her hair. "I didn't mean...to suggest.."  
"Oh, but you did. It's alright. That's why I was sent here."  
Inas got up from her chair.  
"Thanks Molly. Get back to work tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

They were on their way to Kent.  
Sherlock reflected on the way in which Inas reacted to the case. Too close. It made sense that a sex trafficking network wouldn't disappear with the death of one man. In fact, he was certain that Young was not even a higher- up in that network. A collector, a tester of sorts. Middle-management.  
Though he was not convinced that these victims were being primed to sell in the market, it seemed a possibility. What didn't make sense was why a proprietor would murder his product.  
He was certain they were linked, however. Certain of that. Serial killer? Perhaps. But the detective was not convinced of that, either.  
He knew he had to visit the families. That was the only way he'd know.

William Martin was gardening outside his from gate. He saw the car pull up & sighed. More police.  
"Mr. Martin?" A rather tall man was striding over towards him.  
"Who's askin'?"  
"Sherlock Holmes. This is my assistant, uh...partner. John Watson." He glanced at John knowingly.  
"Can I ask you a few questions about Catherine?"  
""Already answered questions. Don't know nothin."  
"No. Mind if we pop in a moment? Just a quick peek?"  
"Can I see your badge?"  
Sherlock flashed Lestrade's badge. William said little, but motioned toward the house.  
Sherlock & John entered the home. There was a comfortable sitting room. The kitchen was large but dated. In fact, the entirety of the home felt a bit dated. Wallpaper. Worn rugs. But quite spacious.  
Sherlock peeked in, as he said, into every room on the first floor. "Ok. Lets go."  
"That's it, then?"  
"One last thing."  
"What a lovely home, Mr. Martin. It appears well-loved."  
"We do love it. That's why we bought it."  
"Quite right. Enjoy your day."  
Sherlock got into the rental to drive off.  
"What was that about?"  
"I'll explain when we get back from the pub."  
"Pub? Are you developing a drinking habit? This is the second time since you came back from the dead I've heard you mention a pub."  
"Don't be ridiculous. I need to check something."


	12. Chapter 12

The Kent sea air was warm for May. It bristled the faces of the detectives as they walked down Watling Street. Sherlock was deep in thought. John was thinking the county might be pleasant to visit with Mary.  
"What are we hoping to find?"  
"Data."

"At a pub? What sort of data are you hoping to obrain there?"

"Observe & learn, John."  
John sometimes held some contempt for his friend. Always so smug. So condescending. Though, truthfully, he believed Inas had knocked him down a notch or two. It was good for him. Not to know everything. He knew sherlock admired his poet-flat mate, though he'd never own up to it. Privately, John wished that Sherlock would pursue a romantic relationship with her, but he knew that the detective wasn't interested in her. It wasn't simply that Sherlock wasn't interested in a relationship, he seemed set against Inas. John suspected that deep down, he found her threatening.  
They entered a pub around the corner from the main road. Sherlock entered & asked about a Mr. Martin.  
"What's that love?" the barmaid was a bit older, wearing a painted smile on her face.  
"Have you any idea of a Mr. William Martin has been here today?"  
"Billy? 'Course he has, he's here every day, ain't he? Hey George, where did Billy say he was goin'?"  
A voice rang out from the back of the bar.  
"He didn't. Never does, does he?"  
The lady looked at the pair. She shrugged. "Sorry, love. He'll be back tomorrow."  
"Thank you. I rather needed to speak with him now."  
"Just as you please."  
Sherlock & John left the pub. "Did you receive your data?"  
"You heard the lady, John. Billy Martin drinks there every day. His daughter was just murdered, yet no one there mentioned it. He's hiding something."  
They registered at the bed & breakfast, & Sherlock retired to his room. He opened his laptop & began to search for local claims of bankruptcy. He had found Martin's name without much preamble. He knew he had, the rest of the girls families had. Now he needed to discover who Martin associated with. Whom he borrowed money from.

The next morning he & John were at a cafe, talking about the case.  
"So, you think she was abducted because Martin owed money?"  
"No, there's something bigger going on."  
"But all of the families had financial problems, you said."  
"Yes. It's a common link. But the more glaring link is the fact that they weren't always poor. They had, at one time, enjoyed financial stability. That fact made their current situation all the more profound; to have money & then to lose it, that stings. That hurts. What's more, all of these girls had stepparents. These families were attempting to eradicate their financial concerns. All three families had financial security at one time. They all lost it quickly. They had lived in this ruin for years. They were growing tired of it..."  
"I'm not following..."  
"I think they were selling their girls."  
"You think what?"  
"William Martin was not Christine's biological father. She was his stepdaughter. Anna Kingsley was adopted. Laura was the only one whose father was her blood relation, but her mother died ages ago, & she had a stepmother. I discovered this while reading the articles online about the murders. Not so very big a leap."  
"Sherlock, what you are suggesting is absolutely disgusting."  
"True. I didn't claim it a pretty hypothesis."  
"But are you certain? Absolutely certain?"  
"Not yet."


	13. Chapter 13

"We're off to Devon & Laura Kane's home. That should be sufficient to get on with."  
"Why didn't we go there first?"  
Sherlock & John were in their rental car. "Well, we've been to Devon. You've never seen Kent."  
"You're not serious."  
"Hardly, John. No. The Martin family has the least amount of data, & I might need some reinforcements in Devon."  
"Why?"  
"Because I believe the killer knew Laura, & I think he's still there."

John hoped Sherlock was wrong, or at least not completely right. The thought that a family would sell, actually sell one of their children, no matter how dire their situation, was absolutely repugnant.  
When they arrived in Devon after driving a good long while, Sherlock went to the police station to obtain the name of Laura's boyfriend, the last person she was known to have been with. John went to a cafe for coffee.  
Sherlock had just left the station when he glimpsed a young woman standing across the street, watching him. He observed she was about 20. She was quite thin, & appeared unkempt. He took note of these things & went to join John.  
"Samuel Richards. Laura's boyfriend. Here's the address. As soon as you're ready..."  
His voice trailed off. He got up & left the cafe. John hurriedly left his unfinished coffee to follow him.  
"Why are you following me?" Sherlock had cornered the young girl.  
"Sorry, sir..." She was shaking. She appeared quite terrified.  
"You haven't answered my question!"  
"Sherlock! This girl is obviously upset. Give her a chance. It's alright...can we help you?"  
"I...I..."  
Sherlock was impatient. "Are you following me?"  
She nodded the affirmative.  
"Do you know who I am?"  
Again, yes.  
"What's the matter? Do you require help?"  
At this, she began to shriek, cry, & tremble simultaneously. Sherlock jumped back. John Watson grabbed her, & began to soothe the crying girl. "Sherlock, go call the authorities. She needs attention."  
For once, Sherlock did as John told him.

The police station was a flutter with activity,  
"Isabelle Ryan. 19 years of age. Went missing yesterday. Serial kidnapper, John. She escaped, but she is in shock, & refuses to speak. She knew Laura."  
"Well. That makes this a bit more interesting. What on earth do you suppose..."  
"I need to speak with Samuel Richards. After that, I may need Inas here."  
"Sherlock, no. You cannot ask her to be a part of this. Not after what she went through, & if your theory is correct. It would be...so...unkind."  
"Unkind? If it stops because of her coming here, would you still feel it unkind?"  
John didn't answer. He had no desire whatsoever to involve Inas in this. He had heard her story almost three months ago, & he didn't want her to have to relive any of it. He didn't want to have to relive it. It was more than upsetting. All of this was. He had seen plenty as a soldier. Increased that amount when he began working with Sherlock. But this, this was horrific. It was, if Sherlock was right, the most terrible thing he could think of to happen to a human being. And Inas had lived it.


	14. Chapter 14

Laura Kane was dead. This fact was indisputable.

She loved Sam, her boyfriend. Only being 20, her parents, well, her mother, refused to believe it. She didn't trust him. While it was true that Sam had once dabbled in some nefarious activities, he had given up the drugs long ago. But he had been acting strangely, & it didn't go unnoticed by Laura.  
Why did he cancel more often? Why was he nervous? He had something on his mind, & Laura meant to find out what it was.

He wished she'd leave it alone. Paul was dangerous, but he brought in money, & that was Sam's motivation. If he wanted to keep Laura by his side he needed to impress her parents with money. He didn't care how he got it, & Paul, while he didn't seem completely on level, he allowed Sam a good bit. Sam knew lots of people, & he'd find abandoned buildings. He'd obtain barbiturates. He kept his mouth shut when he had questions.  
So when Laura ended up dead, Sam panicked. He loved her, but he needed to get her as far from Devon as possible. He was pretty sure Paul had done it, Laura had been poking around. He took her to London. He hid her in an abandoned store. He knew, when those other girls ended up dead, that Paul had lost it. He knew that Sam had taken Laura to London, & he followed suit with the other two. Paul was no good.

When Sam heard Sherlock Holmes was investigating, he was concerned. He should just point him in Paul's direction, but he was afraid. He had heard of the detective.


	15. Chapter 15

Paul McBride was on the run. He knew that stupid bloke would cave & talk. He had to get rid of his girlfriend, & those other two had pissed him off enough to send him over the edge. He figured that he could get away in time to cover his tracks, but Sam had begun to panic. Whatever. He'd been doing this since he was a kid, he'd figure it out.  
Almost twenty years, working for different bosses, finding different kids. Some runaways, some unwanted. Some, curious enough to just go. He didn't care who was after him. He wasn't afraid.

Sherlock Holmes was chasing after Sam, & he knew Sam knew he was doing it. What he needed was a decoy, & he suspected he knew exactly whom to ask.  
"Explain to me once more why I should do this." Inas was not only irritated that Sherlock was bothering her for yet another favor, she was apprehensive at the idea of reentering that world which she so longed to escape. Sherlock insisted that there was no guarantee that that was what was going on, but Inas knew better. She understood the signs.  
"Because it will help catch a murderer."  
"Right. Play the guilt trip. Next you'll be outlining my ethical code, of which I doubt you're terribly familiar with. Or perhaps you think you should be dictating my ethics."  
"No. But I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't wish other young girls dead when you might have had a hand in stopping it."  
Inas rolled her eyes. She knew he was right, & she hated him at that moment.  
"Text me the directions." Damn Sherlock Holmes.  
Sherlock smiled & hung up. He texted as requested.  
"We are good, John. Have our man within the day."


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock knew that Paul McBride would know Inas's real name. He prepared a text for him using the information that Sam gave him. Inas would be pressing further charges. She would be the witness to his crimes.  
When she heard the name, it caused no recollection. When she saw the photo, she started. Yes, she recognized him. He aided Michael Young, He had been there. She would do this, because it would end it for her.  
The phone call was quick & direct.  
"You cannot get far, Paul. You'll only add more charges to the laundry list that have accrued. I am bearing witness to the fact that you've been involved in this for decades. It's best if you give yourself up."  
Silence.  
"Hello?"  
"How did you survive?"  
This question, always the same question. "I'm stronger than you."

Paul McBride knew he was done for, & when the officials met him he understood that the phone call was merely a way in which to slow him up. He hadn't any idea of surrendering.  
He vaguely wondered how Jane Eliot had escaped, & how many more had. He thought that Michael had insured that that sort of thing would never happen, but then, Michael was in jail, too. It was a strange thing, after all of these years, to suddenly know without doubt, what his future would be, after always never knowing if he'd be alive the next day.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock was sitting in his favorite chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.  
Inas entered the room, freshly showered, & sat in the chair opposite.  
"Felling better?"  
"I am, thank you."  
The pair looked at each other. Sherlock smiled. Inas looked away.  
"Was it very terrible?"  
Inas rolled her eyes. "No. It was like a holiday abroad."  
She got up & walked over to the table where the cigarettes rested, & lit one.  
She never talked about her past unless she had to, & then it was with cold indifference. All of her pain & memories were poured into words. Words that became poetry. Poetry that the world read, & paid money to read. She never stopped selling her pain. The world, to Inas, was a cruel, cruel place.  
A solitary tear swelled in her eye. Sherlock had gotten up & went over to her. He reached his hands out to take hold of hers. He examined her scars - her arms where she had been beaten with a whip. Her wrists where she had failed suicide. Her shoulders where she had been cut with a knife, and he knew her left shoulder bore one more scar from the bullet she took a few months back. Her body was beaten. It told a sad story of suffering & pain. The black she always wore was testament to that fact. She mourned, constantly.  
"How did you survive it all?"  
Inas wiped that single tear. She hated that she allowed her body to weep.  
"I didn't survive. Jane Eliot died. I learned how to escape from my body - it got to the point that I thought I'd gone mad. Developed a different personality. Inas Inverness was born. When I left Milan, & came back here, I knew I'd be ok. Well, not ok, exactly. But alive & not clinically insane."  
"You were always alone."  
"Always. I had my books, though. My music."  
"You & I. We are similar creatures."  
"As are John & I. You saved us both from ourselves."  
Sherlock smiled. He leaned in, & gently took Inas's chin in his hand. Very softly, he pressed his mouth to hers. She hardly reciprocated. When he pulled away, she stared at him.  
"Don't you dare pity me."  
"I don't. You are stronger than any person I've ever met. But you're damaged. I'm glad to help you regain yourself."  
He turned & went to put on his coat.  
"Don't leave."  
At first, Inas wasn't certain if Sherlock had said that or if she had. She looked up.  
"Pardon?"  
"You're thinking about leaving. I'm asking you to stay. I think that we make for interesting flat mates. Since we neither of us are keen on anything further, I'd rather not worry myself over your welfare."  
"You're sweet." Inas was smirking now.  
"No, I'm not. But, much as I may not care to admit it, the Fall changed me. I'm not the same person. You underwent a metamorphosis when you were, well, brutalized. I did when I died. This is the first, & last, time you'll ever hear me say these words: I need people. Certain people. John. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. You."  
"Molly."  
"Yes. Molly. I know you, & I know that your first inclination was to leave. I cannot allow that. I'll find you, anyway."  
Inas smiled again. She nodded. "Go. I'll be here when you return."  
Sherlock left. He was right. Inas had wanted to run away, as far as she could get. She didn't want to feel like this. She felt vulnerable.  
But she had a right to happiness, & living this life, this life with this family, was yielding her some happiness. So she would stay here. She would attend John & Mary's wedding when it happened. She would listen to Sherlock complain about Molly. And she'd help Mrs. Hudson get around when she found herself immobile.  
Inas Inverness, after 35 years of searching, finally discovered where she belonged, & it was due to her suffering that she found it.


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock Holmes had undergone quite a lot of changes since he had faked his death. He thought about things differently. He felt things differently. He cooked. He cared about certain people. He played duets.  
At the outset of these changes, Sherlock was reluctant. He disliked the things that he began to care about. He disliked the fact that he wouldn't return to his flat until he was absolutely certain that John & Mrs. Hudson were safe. He disliked it, but he felt compelled just the same.  
When he met Inas Inverness, he was intrigued. She was stunning, in many ways. He had decided that his treatment of her would be a test. Could he honestly care about someone he hardly knew, simply because she was a person in need, given that he just died to save his, well, friends?  
The answer was a resounding yes. In fact, he was so moved by this woman, that he asked her to move in with him. As he had already dissected her, he learned to enjoy her company. He admired her knowledge. He enjoyed her sarcasm. He knew, above all else, that she understood him, as he understood her. They were of the same mold. He allowed himself to care for her.  
When he kissed her, it wasn't out of pity. It wasn't out of attraction or lust. It was a kiss that to him, showed that he had grown, & she had helped him. He would never had attempted such a thing before the Fall. He would never have even thought to do it. But his relationship with Inas, as strange as it appeared, had changed him in ways that was second only to his relationship with John. She was him, he was her. But they were the best parts of each other - not like Moriarty. And he knew that they would never, not even remotely, ever be more than what they were now. Because in many ways, they were already everything to one another.

That left Molly. Molly Hooper, who was there, all the while, lurking in the background, waiting for Sherlock Holmes to grow up. He still wasn't sure what to do about her. He only knew that it was time to stop avoiding it. No matter what happened, he knew that that relationship needed to change - just as his with John had changed, so this must as well. He wasn't certain how to go about it. He didn't even know how, exactly, this thing might happen. It was telling that Moriarty neglected to include her among those he cared for. Sherlock didn't demonstrate outwardly his fondness for Molly.  
Perhaps that was where he should start.

Molly was getting ready for lunch. Her bag in the fridge was less than tempting. She was frugal by nature, but also occasionally, allowed herself some extravagance. By that, she would buy herself some lunch. Molly seldom wore makeup. She seldom bought new clothes. She enjoyed reading, but would utilize the library. She owned an e-reader, but was unsure of it. She preferred the feel of a book in her hands. She was sentimental. She was sickeningly sweet to many. She even, on occasion, wished she could be, well, cool. Molly was not that person. She never would be. She may have wished to be cool, but her nature fought against it.  
When she saw Sherlock Holmes at the end of the corridor, she thought she had met very few people in life that were quite as cool as he was. She thought he must want something. She thought he must be waiting for someone else. She thought many, many things. And then he smiled at her. She returned it, & they went to lunch.


End file.
